Rules
by keariel
Summary: Some rules you really shouldn't live by. TORI centric; mentions of Tori x Beck and Cat x Andre   Rated T for character death and mentions of self harm


It's not hard to be pretty when everyone thinks of you that way.

Or, at least, that's what her sister always told her.

But sometimes, when she looks in the mirror, she can't help but glance at the photos she's taped around the frame and wonder; what if I looked like them?

* * *

><p>Rule number one; Keep Smiling.<p>

And so she does; even at the insults thrown at her by the beautiful brunette girl with the boyfriend anyone would _die_ to have, she keeps smiling, bright and happy and _shining_, because someone has to, don't they?

And if no one else wants to stand up and shine, to be like a miniature sun, pulling everyone towards her _because**she's**so**damn**afraid**of**being**alone**_ then she'll do it; she'll be modest and _oh if you insist_ about it, but she'll do it, damn you.

She'll keep smiling.

* * *

><p>She's only ever deviated from her rules once; and then, she suffered the concequences. A friendship lost forever, and one that will never be ordinary.<p>

One that's now full of secret touches and promises neither of them can keep, and which hurts _everyone_, because she's seen the way they watch them, and she knows they can see what's happening.

She knows they can see that the _perfect_, **shining **girl they thought they gained is pulling apart the fragile world they built long before she turned up, like a thoughtless child slashing at delicate spider webs, not realising _that's someone's home, Victoria. We don't destroy people's homes._

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><p>Rule number two: Hide Your Scars<p>

Long sleeved shirts and endless amounts of bangles work well enough when they are raw and painful; when you've alleviated your emotional pain by inflicting the physical kind, but you don't want anyone to see because then they'll make you **stop_._**

**_And you don't want to stop. _**_Don't they understand that?_

And then, when they're healed and it's like they never happened _although**white**_**lines_are_**_obvious**on**_**tanned_skin _**the bangles are gone and she's wearing tank tops and flowwy tunics and preening and looking pretty for them, while she tries to mask the emotional scars; the ones that only go away by making more physical ones, which just leaves her spiralling down wards in a viscious cycle.

She stole her mothers anti-depressants once, but they don't work, because she's not _depressed_. Just...

Resigned.

And sad about the outcome she's resigned herself to; because it's not a happy smiling outcome which her friends can be part of.

It's bleak and dark, and so painful it hurts just thinking about it.

* * *

><p>When she was little, her teacher asked her-<em>and the rest of her class, because she was chubby and unimportant then<em>-to draw what she wanted to grow up to be.

She sat in her little chair, chubby little fingers tight around her crayon, for about half an hour before she came up with something to draw.

In the end, she just wrote down the thing she wanted to be.

Her parents sent her to a child psychologist for six months when they found out what she had written, only to find out she was a perfectly ordinary little girl who perhaps needed to stop listening to her big sister.

Trina stopped complaining about girls at her school who were _perfect_.

Victoria learnt to lie.

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><p>Rule number three: Be Quirky<p>

Quirks are admired by everyone; whether it's a recuring habit of asking _what's**that**supposed**to**mean**? **_when people make innocent observations, or carrying around an unpleasant wooden puppet who insults everyone, if you're quirky it's a sure thing that you'll go far.

Which is why she's ignorant in a sweet, innocent kind of way, and why she refuses to wear converses of the same colour, and why _wait**for**it,**here**comes**a**lie _she carries a toothbrush around with her everywhere.

And why she runs to the bathroom straight after eating every lunch time.

And sometimes after breakfast.

And dinner.

Her quirks have gradually become less charming and admirable; it's the kind of thing that happens when pretty and mean brunettes comment that her quirks could easily be something else.

Something nobody admires, but _everybody _pities; and she doesn't **want** to be pitied, _thank you very much_.

* * *

><p>She had to write an essay about what it's like to drown, once; they'd been studying a book in English, and her teacher had wanted them all to come up with their own interpretation of the main characters experience of drowning.<p>

Only, she hadn't known where to start.

What was drowning like?

Was it gradual? Like slowly loosing consciousness?

Or was it very quick; one second of breathing water, one lung full, and you're gone?

She didn't know of anyone she could ask.

So, she ran a bath, and when the rest of her family was out...

* * *

><p>Rule number four: Be Comforting And Concerned<p>

If she was the one taking care of other people, no one could assume she was the one who needed taking care of.

She was the one concerned about their bubbly, red-head friend when she asked what dying felt like; even though she'd wondered about it enough times herself. She was the one who held onto Beck's hand as he waited to find out if Jade had really lost the baby-although, and she'd never admit it if any one asked, when they found out that Jade had, in fact, effectively killed hers and Beck's baby by speeding on the highway _that's**what**she**told**him,**because**otherwise**he**would**have**said**no **_they did go and have sex in one of the hospital supply closets.

And internally, she was kinda glad the baby was gone; because she'd never have been able to compete with a pregnant Jade.

* * *

><p>Trina only ever asked about the white lines on her arms once; and then, she was shouted at so much, and had so many things thrown at her, that she never asked again.<p>

Because who wants to feel concern for a broken girl when _she doesn't want to be fixed?_

* * *

><p><em>She stands in front of her mirror-<strong>the ones her parents don't know about, the one made from ever compact mirror she's ever bought, the one with pictures of models stuck around the frame with '<strong>_**perfect'_written over the top_**_-and wishes._

_She wishes she was as pretty as her friends; so beautiful that it _ached _just to look at her. She wished that she didn't lose everything she ever got to someone else; and that the things she does get to keep were so tainted._

_She clutching at her arms at her hair, and her bedroom door is locked, and she's _screamingscreamingscreaming_ because it's been three years since they were young and free and going to a school with brightly painted lockers and classes with crazy teachers, and everyone seems to be happy..._

_Except her._

_And so she opens the shoe box she hid at the very top of her closet, where no one could find it, and she opens the lid, resignation settling over her as she stares down at the shining silver object she'd tried to avoid for years..._

_And all her song and happiness and shining pretence bleeds out onto a fluffy brightly patterned carpet which only ever served to show just how far she was from being truly happy._

* * *

><p>the Police called it suicide, but if everyone was really honest with themselves it was something closer to murder.<p>

How could they have missed it?

Trina was the one who found the list, folded carefully and hidden under her broken baby sister's pillow, and Number Thirty Two had her sobbing and clutching her fathers hand like her heart had been torn out and stamped on.

_**Number thirty two: Only Tell If They Ask More Than Once**_

Cat and Andre put off their wedding plans; mainly at Cat's insistance, because, and I quote;

_She was the one who kept me holding on. Why shouldn't I be the one to send her off?_

Beck and Jade split up; mainly because of the tiny little brunette toddler Robbie brought to the funeral and pushed on the sobbing latino man, stating that _she wanted you to take care of her if anything happened._

But partially because at the funeral, Jade couldn't cry.

As hard as she tried to push out the tears, she couldn't make them come; because although she cared-_there was never any doubt that behind the insults and the sneering looks, she cared deeply_-she couldn't forget the way tanned features had smoothed with relief when the doctor had announced she had, indeed, lost Beck's child.

Their old drama teacher gave a moving speech about how talented she had been; her parents spoke of her ambition; Robbie, who had gone to the same university as her, had spoken of how she was always trying to help people.

But it was Cat, in a now more common moment of lucidity and shocking insight, who had everyone gaping, shell shocked at the truth of her words.

_The reality of the situation is, none of us really knew Tori._

_The girl I knew in High School would never have done this to herself._

_She was always the one helping me out; _**and God knows I needed it.**

_But the sad fact is, we were never there to help her out._

_We never even tried; because we never knew she needed it._

_We never even tried to find out._

_I can't claim to have understood why she did this;_

_She was, as everyone said, a beautiful and talented girl._

_But where ever her soul is now, I hope she's happy._

_Because she deserves that much._

_To be happy._

Somewhere very different from the fluffy white clouds and harps everyone imagined, brown eyes softened as she was finally understood by someone.

And Tori smiled.

..

.

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><p><strong>OOC: This...is weird. I appologise. Read my Cat one; it's much better.<strong>

**Oh, and if you find the reference in this one to that one, I'll give ya a cyber cookie. ;)**

**Review, please; I would be eternally grateful. :)**


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